


on sparrow's wings

by bigstupidjellyfish



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, also i've officially broken my record on obscurity of my faves and otps, extreme cosmodrome nostalgia, good job me, just dudes chilling on sparrows i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 16:06:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14980673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigstupidjellyfish/pseuds/bigstupidjellyfish
Summary: in this fic i celebrate the crimson bond between marcus ren and enoch bast





	on sparrow's wings

**Author's Note:**

> TWO LORE CARDS WITH LESS THAN 200 WORDS IN THEM TOTAL ARE MORE THAN ENOUGH TO DEVELOP INTENSE EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENT TO CHARACTERS IN THOSE CARDS, WHO WOULD HAVE GUESSED

The Cosmodrome was abandoned once again.

Enoch often wondered what it was like before the Collapse during his lengthy patrols. Empty buildings and factory blocks, shipyards, transit areas - the place was enormous, designed to see more humans every day than Enoch could imagine. He saw Venus and its remains of Ishtar Academy, he saw cities of Mars being buried in dust and sand, but out of all places in the entire Sol, it was the Cosmodrome that made the Collapse feel like a real event, a consequence to which was Enoch's first resurrection, his second life devoted to protection of those who now lived under Traveler. 

He liked being a Guardian. He mourned what was lost, what he had no memory of or connection to. Here, in the Cosmodrome.

After scout reports confirmed that Fallen Houses fled the Cosmodrome and after the Red War, Vanguard stopped issuing patrols there. On Earth, European Dead Zone was the hotspot now, with the Cabal still persisting and the Fallen finding yet new ways of being a thorn in Vanguard's side. Enoch visited EDZ diligently, stopping by growing settlements, still bewildered by refugees from Cityfall that decided to stay there. They were resilient people, intent on proving they don't need walls and Vanguard's protection.

Now, the irony of EDZ not being so dead and empty in comparison to the Cosmodrome caught up.

He visited the Mothyards after Crimson Cup. He couldn't call it patrol, no matter how the familiar the route was, no matter how he habitually listened into the air for Eliksni chatter or, worse, wire rifle bolts whistling near his head. He just... needed some space. Cosmodrome had plenty of it.

He had his racing sparrow with him, the one that brought him victory in the Cup. Normally, he'd take a sparrow sturdy enough to survive a gunfight, fast enough just to outrun Eliksni pikes. It still felt a little uneasy, to have this expensive, fast but fragile bird with him out in the wild, so far away from City perimeter and tracks prepared by the League.

That sparrow didn't have flashy decals, nothing remarkable like professional SRL members painted their birds with. Enoch reluctantly thought about maybe putting something distinctive onto it, to make the sparrow stand out not only for its performance, but its looks as well. Though, Enoch thought, racing at full speed with wind, maybe his bird didn't need to look flashy. That could be his thing.

He thought about his victory as he rode his route, at speeds that wouldn't let him notice any danger, feeling as if he was the only living creature on the entire Earth. He remembered how a cell on Marcus' sparrow gave out, slowed him down, gave Enoch an opportunity to gain and outrun him. Enoch's path now mirrored those memories: he pressed the pedals to go faster, and the bird obediently flew on a rusty airplane's wing, gaining momentum. The sparrow made a high, leaping jump from this improvised ramp, taking Enoch's breath away, and he landed smoothly, without slowing down.

Enoch couldn't help but wonder: did Marcus hold his promise to let him win? Was he just unlucky to have his sparrow let him down in the most important moment? Was Enoch actually capable enough to earn his title? Which was it?

He felt that his doubts soured the sweet taste of victory. After initial disbelief was replaced with realization, after the rush of excitement hit him, after he held the Cup in his hands and heard people calling him _Enoch Bast, Champion of Crimson Cup_ , he thought again about the odds that were against this happening. About the odds that were in his favor, too.

All he knew was that right now, he enjoyed the race. He loved the moment when he flew past the unassailable champion of SRL, the moment when he crossed the finish. He loved passing old airplanes in Mothyards at impossible speeds, all alone in abandoned Cosmodrome, doing sparrow tricks and sharp turns with no audience to watch him.

He loved Marcus for letting him experience this. For dragging him to his first race and beating him miserably, bragging about his Champion streak, egging Enoch to do better and beat him. If it wasn't for him, Enoch wouldn't know this.

He was capable enough. He was going to hold the title next year.

His Ghost noticed something as he approached the Skywatch, and Enoch slowed down to look around, his habits of scanning the area kicking in. He saw a lonely figure basking in sunlight near the observatory bulding: another sparrow, with a Guardian lying on it, hands crossed on their stomach. Despite Vanguard reports, Enoch thought, sleeping out there in the open seemed risky.

But when he stopped by the Guardian and saw the familiar crimson shell of their Ghost, he knew better than to start conversation with scolding this hunter.

"Didi," he greeted the Ghost, standing from his sparrow. "Marcus."

What were the odds of them meeting there?

"Hi, Enoch! Feather!" Didi greeted him and his Ghost in response. "He's not sleeping, don't worry," she added, correctly guessing what Enoch thought of first when he saw them.

Marcus waved at him from his sparrow. He was in his racing gear except for the cloak and boots. Enoch could understand the purpose of the cloak out in the wilderness - real one, not holographic replacement that didn't get in the way during racing, - but the boots were certainly some sort of oddity. Tubes ran down the pants into them, and Marcus fidgeted his feet as if he was cold. Enoch sighed, thinking that Marcus' fondness of tinkering with cutting-edge tech was going to get him banned in the Crucible one day.

He couldn't see Marcus' expression behind his helmet. It bothered him that they haven't spoken since the day of Crimson Cup yet, since Marcus' curt praise on him getting the first place. Only a few days passed, and yet. It bothered him slightly less to see Marcus so still, even with him kicking his feet (was that frost that covered the tips of toes? what _were_ those boots, seriously?).

It bothered Enoch tremendously to see Marcus in armor that wouldn't hold against even a shock blade, in a place where so many fights against the Fallen happened (Enoch distinctly remembered dying once to a shrapner launcher not so far away from here). That part of him that made him choose to wear the emblem of Six Fronts after he reached the City for the first time and realized his purpose as a Guardian, that part of Enoch didn't like this. He felt the Void in him calling to put up Ward of Dawn upon Marcus and his expensive sparrow, to protect him from threats that were not present in the moment.

"I watched you doing tricks from there," Marcus finally said. "You're pretty good at them."

Enoch heard a smile in Marcus voice. The praise was high, and sounded sincere. The thought that Marcus was watching him made him a little flustered, but he couldn't recall any clumsy turns or bad flips. He performed well, for himself, and that still impressed Marcus. Enoch couldn’t resist grinning at that.

"Trying my best," he said sheepishly. "It's a bit odd to run into you here." Enoch tried a neutral topic, unsure how to approach the conversation about the Cup. He leaned back onto his sparrow, feeling whatever tech that let it hover above the ground give in under his weight and then push back into its perfectly calibrated position.

"I needed some space to think. It's the best place for that," Marcus said from his sparrow.

"Huh. I thought the same."

Smile lingered on Enoch's lips, hidden under his helmet.

He remembered their first meeting. It was here, at the Cosmodrome. Enoch was stranded in an open area with barely any cover, fighting against a considerable amount of Fallen, hoping they didn't call a skiff with reinforcements. Then Marcus showed up in the most Marcus manner one could ever imagine: he rammed his sparrow at full speed at the biggest Fallen in the group and drove him off the cliff. It did nothing to turn the situation into Guardians' favor, on the opposite: the Fallen did call reinforcements, and they were really angry.

Eventually, many resurrections later, fresh comrades fought off the enemies. Then introduced themselves to each other. Enoch joked that after seeing this stupid, very hunter-like stunt, he now felt obligated to look after Marcus in case he got into trouble. Marcus immediately took offense and called him out on a duel in the Crucible.

They stuck together after that, fighting alongside on patrols and strikes or in the Crucible. Competing with each other in SRL.

"Did you let me win?"

Enoch knew how much pride Marcus took in his victories. How he taunted other competitors, saying he'd let them win for small favors as a joke. How much he loved racing, probably more than anything in this world.

Marcus sat up on his sparrow.

"I gave it my best shot," he said and patted rear fender of the sparrow, "but my birdie gave out."

Enoch scoffed.

"These things don't just happen to you."

Marcus got onto his feet and started walking back and forth. It was more usual than seeing him idle, though Enoch thought that he definitely noticed frost on those weird boots and that he didn't like it.

"You were going to sell your sparrow and give up on racing, weren't you?"

The question caught Enoch by surprise. How could Marcus tell? How could he know that during the race?

"Well," he looked down under his feet, trying to find words. "There was a moment when it seemed it wasn't worth it," he admitted.

"Do you plan on having this moment every time you think you're losing? Man, and I thought titans are supposed to be stubborn."

Enoch laughed.

"I just had to pick the toughest rival in entire SRL. I'm not gonna lose to you in the next Cup, though." He felt good that he could say that with confidence. 

Marcus stopped before Enoch and they looked at each other. They didn't need to take helmets off to read each other's mood, something that came with years of fighting alongside, learning to communicate through subtle body language. 

"I held my promise whether I liked it or not. I'd hate to see you give up on racing," Marcus said, his voice warm and not at all prickly or bitter. He stepped close to Enoch and bumped their helmets together. "You won. You earned this."

This was still new to Enoch. To them both. He put his hands on Marcus' forearms reluctantly and said:

"And what do I get for winning? This?"

"What? No, you got your rewards already!" Marcus said, laughing with demonstrative indignation, but not moving away or losing their contact or that not-quite-kiss they shared.

"But I want more."

"Then you gotta win some more."

"How about a race right now then? To that bridge across that place and back here? Your sparrow good enough for a flight?"

Marcus leaned away to look around, at the Mothyards seen in plain daylight from up there, known so well to them both.

"What do I get if _I_ win?" He asked as if racing wasn't enough of a reward on its own for him, his tone playful enough to inspire a similar response from Enoch.

"Winner gets to kiss the loser." Enoch grinned, feeling brave and confident.

Marcus hopped on his sparrow, waited for Enoch to settle on his and said:

"You're on, Bast," and took off.

Enoch hurried to follow.


End file.
